


Need

by aryas_zehral



Category: Glee
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Gen, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryas_zehral/pseuds/aryas_zehral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was so focused on this, on her dreams, on her profile that mundane things were forgotten. She forgot to watch what she was drinking before the performance. She forgot to go to the girls’ room before she headed to the stage. She just didn't think about it until she was on stage, blinded by the lights, and trapped for the whole second act and Rachel, Rachel needed to pee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the square "watersports" on my kink bingo card.

It was an accident. She was getting ready to go on stage- it was the second week of the run and she had an actual solo in this one - and panicking slightly because she knew that there was a reporter in the audience who was - according to the rumours going round the cast - working on a report of fresh new talent in New York. Rachel wanted, no she _needed_ , to be featured in that article. She needed to get her name out there. She needed to get more than just one solo. She needed to be noticed so that her star could be unveiled to the world. This was her moment; she knew it.

She was so focused on this, on her dreams, on her profile that mundane things were forgotten. She forgot to watch what she was drinking before the performance. She forgot to go to the girls’ room before she headed to the stage. She just didn't think about it until she was on stage, blinded by the lights, and trapped for the whole second act because the director had stripped back the scene changes so that the backgrounds changed without anyone unnecessary leaving the stage and Rachel, Rachel needed to pee.

At first it was just a slight niggle, not a pressure but an awareness that she could, if she wanted, go to the bathroom but it was ok she didn't need to. But then it got worse. The longer she was stuck on stage the more all she could think about was the pressure in her belly, on the urge she had to move, and on the fact that she couldn't go anywhere. The lights were bright and she had to fight not to respond, not to look out at the audience but to focus, focus on the words, focus on what her cast mates were doing. All the time there was this growing need to do something and she couldn't: she couldn't even cross her legs, the blocking wouldn't allow it. 

By the time her solo came it was almost a relief. Standing at the back of the stage reacting but not doing a great deal made her far too aware of her bladder, of her stance, of her position. Moving forward, pushing Ina - star of the show- out of the way at the required moment she strode to the front of the stage and started her song. But the blocking required her to stand, legs apart, as if she was freaking Peter Pan, and that position made the pressure in her belly burn with desperate need. She had to focus her body, holding everything tight, controlled and yet still belt out her song. She could feel her face burning in the effort and her body was trembling. It took all she had not to run off stage.

And then she was done. Her song was over and Ina had pushed her out of the way and she was out of the limelight (and, oh god, it was the only time she could remember when she had been glad of that), slouched against the wall insolently. It’s another fifteen minutes before the play finishes and, although she has a few more lines to spout as she tries to tempt the romantic lead away for Ina, Rachel's part is almost over. It’s a relief when she is dragged -literally dragged by her co-stars- into line to bow. She finds she doesn't even care what the reporter is thinking; her whole body is focused on keeping control, on not peeing (although - oh god! - she has to) on not letting go. Its a constant burning pressure now and she feels the slightest touch would set her off and she would be wetting herself in front of all these people- her cast mates, the audience, her boss, the reporter.

The image of her - jeans warming as the hot spreading wetness soaks into them, trickles down down her leg and onto the hard wooden floor, the scent of piss hitting her nose while the people around her look at her shocked and possibly horrified, everyone's attention on her, just her, and no one else - sends a thrill through her but she can't think about it, can't consider it, because if she did her control might slip. 

And then she's free. The curtains have closed, and opened, and closed again and she is free to leave the stage. People keep trying to touch her, she's being jostled by bodies leaving the stage and Mark - who she normally revels in any attention from - actually throws an arm round her, pulling her toward him, his hip digging into her belly, telling her how well she did tonight. She bites back a groan but he hears it, looks sharply at her, before letting her pull away and push past their colleagues. As soon as she reaches the nearest bathroom she slams the door closed behind her, locking it, and collapses against the inside of the door scrabbling at the buttons on her jeans, pushing them and her floral panties down as quickly as she can. She's sitting on the toilet almost before her panties are out of the way, desperation making her clumsy.

For a moment nothing happens. Her body won't respond and the tension in her body is so tight that she can't quite relax enough to go. Her hands flutter to her belly, pressing lightly feeling the swollen, heavy weight of her too full bladder beneath her skin, and she shocks herself with the depth of the groan that tears out of her as she start to pee, the urine streaming from her body with such pressure that it practically hisses. It seems to go on forever, and the heat and strength of it is so strong that she is sweating, moaning, practically outside herself, beyond herself, with the pleasure of relief. He eyes are scrunched closed and she feels her hands pressing against her belly, adding an extra frisson to the experience. All she can hear is the sound of her piss hitting the water and smell the sweet tang of the urine in the air.

Eventually the stream slows down to a trickle and she come back to herself. She quickly wipes and stands, pulling her jeans up, pushing the handle for the toilet to flush before heading over to the sink to wash her hands. She feels oddly light, empty, and almost missing the sensation of being too full. When she looks into the mirror above the sink she is flushed but glowing, looking a little spaced out but with a brightness in her eyes. She feels like she's run a marathon, like she's had the best sex of her life, like she's been showered with accolades, like she's achieved something special, which is weird but she's too tired to examine it in any depth.

And if, the next night and the night after that and the one after that, she "forgets" to pee before going on stage well, she refuses to examine that either.


End file.
